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I stabbed my brother yesterday this morn' wounded my wife. Not with a sword or blade or spear or razor sharp-edged knife. But with a weapon soft and smooth and rarely seen by most. It draws no blood, yet cuts so deep it lies and bluffs and boasts. I hone my tongue, I keep it sharp deep in its scabbard, my lips. Outwardly I may seem harmless but my weapon is swift. The ones I love I wound the worst I know just where they're weak. And when stirred up my tongue backbites with deadly double-speak. The more I use my tongue to hurt the keener does it grow. Unlike mere steel which must be honed it's sharper with each blow. It slices through my enemies yet also stabs my friends. A double ed-ged threat to all whatever I intend. A fountain giving sometime fresh and bitter water too. Such contradiction, paradox to say the things I do. One minute it can soothe and heal tell bedtime children's tales. And then it screams obscenities as I, loved ones, assail. And gossip is a stealthy stalk behind a person's back. Assassinating character unseen, my tongue attacks. Or lies so glibly spoken when by instinct, I deceive. Sometimes I joke but even then what message do I leave? Now sharpened swords grow dull with time and rifles rust away. A pistol fires just six shots the marksman, it obeys. Behold the tongue that wags itself from morning, noon 'till dark. It never dulls, it never jams it always hits its mark. Of all the armies that have marched and navies that have sailed. Of all the missiles poised to launch together they would fail... to match the tongue in deadly pow'r a plague upon the world. The tongue alone, unconquerable its flag of death unfurled. A wild animal is tamed through patient care and love. A ship so huge and powerful obeys the helmsman's glove. Behold the tongue that disobeys so small and yet so sharp. As forest fires rage and burn begun by tiny sparks. From wicked heart my tongue reveals the evil deep within. The Lord alone can change my heart Pandora's Box of sin. From inside out, the source to cleanse remake my heart and mind. Dear Father give me your own thoughts the soothing, gentile, kind. 'Till naturally your words of life flow forth to heal and save. As witness of your love, for now, my tongue's a tool of grace."
Inspired by James, Chapter 3 Originally published on my website.
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